


No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

by afteriwake



Series: nongentorum [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Hurt John Watson, Injured John, Injury, John is Not Amused, John is a Good Friend, Married Mary Morstan/John Watson, Minor Mary Morstan/John Watson, Minor Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, POV John Watson, Parental Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, good deeds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:32:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6825157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John attempts to bring some holiday cheer to the outside of 221 Baker Street and ends up getting injured for his troubles, much to his dismay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sideofrawr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sideofrawr/gifts).



> This was a _veeeery_ old request from my friend **sideofrawr** for my [Christmas Fic Countdown](http://penaltywaltz.tumblr.com/post/134408122533/christmas-fic-countdown-2015) for a Sherlock and John BROTP fic with the prompt “ _i live below you and i was minding my own business watching the snowfall out the window WHEN I SAW A BODY FALL ARE YOU REALLY PUTTING UP CHRISTMAS LIGHTS NOW_ ” that I tweaked just slightly. I do hope you enjoy it anyway, dear!

“You’re a complete moron!” he heard Sherlock shout rather loudly as his eyes fluttered open.

John looked up and saw both Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson standing over him. Two of each, actually, and what looked like nine hundred sparkling lights as well. He tried to heave himself up into a sitting position but he groaned instead and Mrs. Hudson let out a clucking sound, kneeling down next to him. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“John, dear, what were you _thinking_?” she asked, fretting over him like a mother hen. “I looked up and saw the snow falling when I went to get a cuppa and then all of a sudden there was a crash and a bang and then you were on my bins and you weren’t moving. I had to call upstairs for Sherlock.”

“And she tore me away from an experiment which is at this very moment probably ruined thanks to your ill-timed attempt to spread some garish holiday cheer," he groused

“Well, it wasn’t meant for a scrooge like you,” John said, his face screwing up in anger as he struggled to sit up again. The pain shooting through his chest convinced him it was a bad idea, though.

“Broken ribs, most likely,” Sherlock said dispassionately. “Your leg’s a mess as well. You’ll probably be in a cast over the holidays. Best give up the idea of enjoying that ski holiday with Mary.”

“Oh, bloody hell, my wife is going to kill me,” he groaned, shutting his eyes again.

“Well, dear, perhaps she’ll understand?” Mrs. Hudson said sympathetically.

“No, you don’t understand. Molly agreed to watch Louisa for the entire two weeks. It was going to be just her and I at the ski lodge, a romantic holiday away. No toddler, no assassins, no Sherlock, no drama.” Sherlock grunted at that. “And now I’m to be stuck in a plaster cast with my ribs taped and she’s going to be playing nursemaid and all because I decided to spruce the place up as a surprise.”

“Well, it’s the thought that counts,” Mrs. Hudson said.

“Not when your wife can kill you in your sleep,” Sherlock said, pulling out his mobile as John opened his eyes again.

“What are you doing?” John asked warily.

“Informing your wife that the plans have changed,” he said.

“Oh God,” John said, groaning again.

Sherlock began to pace in the small alleyway. “Yes, Mary? Your husband is an idiot. Injured himself trying to bring some holiday cheer to Mrs. Hudson. Yes, yes, I know, he’s a good man. Well, they preclude a skiing holiday. Broken leg, most likely. Broken ribs as well. No, he can explain in person. No, by all means, go skiing without him. Take Molly. I can bear to be without my pathologist for two weeks. She deserves the break for putting up with me. Yes, Mycroft will ensure she’s given the time off. Your husband can have his old room. No, you know I deal quite well with Louisa and the flat is toddler-proofed.” He moved the mobile away from his mouth. “She’s laughing, says she knew this would happen.”

“Dear God,” John muttered.

“What’s that?” Sherlock asked, pulling the mobile back to his mouth. “Yes, we’ll be taking care of him shortly. I’ll call to an ambulance soon. We’ll just bring him back to Baker Street. Oh...well, I suppose that works as well.” There was a long pause. “Yes, I’ll inform him. Very well. Give my regards to her, tell her to enjoy her well-earned vacation.” He hung up and looked at John as he handed Mrs. Hudson his phone. “Call an ambulance, Mrs. Hudson.”

Mrs. Hudson nodded as John looked at her and then turned to Sherlock. “Just what did my wife tell you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“She said you have just ensured that from now on the two of you are hiring a professional to decorate our home for the holidays, or at the very least she is personally supervising you, because you’re the most accident prone man she’s ever met in her life and she doesn’t know how it happened because before you got married you used to be, and I quote, ‘smooth as silk.’”

John shook his head, finding the small action hurt quite a bit. “She’s never going to let me live this down, is she?” he asked.

“No,” Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock chorused.

“Frankly, I’m not sure any of us will,” Mrs. Hudson added before the operator picked up.

John shut his eyes again. “Bloody hell, put me out of my misery, Sherlock. Please?”

“Whatever for? I need you in my life,” he said. “Most likely it will only come up during the holidays. I’m sure you can endure.”

John grunted. “Oh, if you ever get married I’ll remind you of that if you ever have a colossal cock-up in front of your wife.”

“That will happen when Hell freezes over,” Sherlock said. “I have not ever intended, nor do I ever intend, to get married.”

He remembered the “my pathologist” remark in Sherlock’s conversation with Mary. “Just keep telling yourself that, Sherlock,” he said. “Now then, can you get me a bloody blanket? I’m freezing my arse off.”

“Complain, complain, complain, John. That’s all you ever do,” Sherlock said, going back inside. John shook his head. He had the feeling this was going to be a _long_ recovery...


End file.
